


Interpretive, Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Groove

by themissing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dance Competition AU, Gen, M/M, Romance, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Work In Progress, sytycd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3482492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themissing/pseuds/themissing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has never been one to back away from a challenge. Still, when his brother dares him to enter a dance competition, Dean finds the biggest hurdle on his path to happiness is, well, himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hell Is An Eternal Queue

Dean Winchester couldn’t believe he’d let his brother talk him into doing this.

They had been waiting outside in the cold San Francisco wind for hours. Dean didn’t really mind the waiting. Sam had thought to bring snacks, and pie is pie even if it’s a little lukewarm. He didn’t even really mind the cold, what with his cozy leather jacket and all that. Poor Jessica on the other hand - but it wasn’t his place to complain if she considered sequins and tassels an actual article of clothing under that long coat of hers.

But what Dean did mind, what practically drove him to screaming, were the frigging games. People apparently were physically incapable of standing in line without spontaneously breaking out into parlor games to pass the time. There had even been - Dean couldn’t help but shudder at the memory – sing-alongs. This wasn’t American Idol, for crying out loud.

This was So You Think You Can Dance. God, he needed a drink. Or twelve.

When the cameras had finally shown up about an hour ago, the attention-whoring had reached absolutely apocalyptic levels. It seemed like everybody was suddenly mugging for the camera, showing off high-kicks and splits right there on the sidewalk. It was miracle no one did a pas-de-D’OH right into a passing car. And now the damn blaring megaphone.

“I swear to God, Sammy, if he screams ‘Frisco are you ready to DANCE’ one more time…”

“Shush, he’s coming this way. Try not to look so much like you’ve been dragged here by hellhounds or something.”

Dean muttered to himself and shoved his hands in his pockets, kicking at a loose pebble. Sam glared at him, so he squared back his shoulders and plastered the fakest smile imaginable on his face. “Better?” 

Before Sam could reply the camera crew, led by the show’s larger-than-life host, was on them. Gabriel was not exactly a low-key persona. He never seemed to stop bouncing even when he was standing still, like there were rubber balls embedded in his soles. He was also the biggest flirt on television; no one was safe from those wiggling eyebrows.

“Oh my goodness, we seem to have stumbled on Sasquatch here! Hellooo up there, what’s your name, you tall drink of water?” 

“Hi, um, I’m Sam. This here is Jessica. We’re ballroom dancers.” Sam’s smile was genuine, even if slightly nervous. Kind of endearing, actually, the damned over-grown man-child, Dean thought as he tried to blend in with the wall and let Sam have his moment.

Gabriel nodded sagely at Sam and Jess. “Mmm-HMM, he would need a golden Amazon to keep up with him. Enchanté, m’dear.” He bent over Jessica’s hand and theatrically planted a kiss there. She giggled and blushed. “If you two get on the show we’ll be expecting giant dancing babies in the future, hmm yes?” He waggled his eyebrows at the camera.

“Oh, we’re just dance partners”, Jessica laughed and shook her blonde curls, “go to the same studio, have the same teachers, sometimes compete together, y’know? I’m actually dating this guy named Brady. Hi honey!” she waved at the camera.

Dean didn’t need to see Sam’s face to see the light go out in his eyes and his shoulders freeze up. The camera was angled away from him, but any moment now it would turn. Dean cared too much for his brother to let him fall apart in front of the nation. There was only one thing to do, and Dean hated it more than anything. 

“Heyyy”, he called out and squeezed in between Sam and Jess, placing himself right in front of the lens. “Can’t let my brother hog all the attention just ‘cause he’s the size of a house, huh?” He grinned widely and snaked out his hand to shake Gabriel’s. “Hi, I’m Dean. I so do not do ballroom. Ever.” 

Dean cringed internally as he realized he’d gone for his default “how YOU doin’” voice. There was a high ringing in his ears as Gabriel turned his attention to him, smiling lecherously. Did the- did the camera just give him a full-body sweep? Oh… God. Ohgodohgodalmighty.

“No, I imagine you wouldn’t, Dean. Tell me, what is it that you DO do?” Gabriel practically purred at him. 

“Oh, y’know... Street stuff, none of this shmanzy posing with feathers and hip-wiggling.” Sam cuffed him on the side of his head, and Dean had never been happier to see a proper bitchface in his life. “Hey, get off me, you moose!” he yelped, and they all laughed, even Gabriel and the cameraman. 

“Oh, we’ll definitely have to keep an eye out for these two”, Gabriel said and wiggled his eyebrows at the camera again. “Jessica and The brothers…?”

“Winchester”, Dean said, and wrapped his arms around both Sam and Jess. Gabriel checked to see the camera got a good shot of that, then winked at them and moved on along the line. Dean felt like he could breathe again. 

“Whatever happened to ‘to hell with all these attention whores’, Dean?” Jessica chuckled and playfully shoved his arm off. He just shrugged at her, and she turned to chatter excitedly at some of the people in line before them. 

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean grumbled under his breath at Sam. The general noise level around them was rising in anticipation of the front doors finally opening. “Who’s BRADY? I thought you were finally going to talk to Jess? Did you… did you even know about this?”

Sam didn’t say anything, only did his best impression of a kicked puppy. Dean rolled his eyes so hard it actually hurt a little. “Sammy…”

Right then Gabriel sounded the horn on his megaphone, and all Hell broke loose as the queue swarmed through the doors.

 

XXX

 

Registration. Fill this. Sign that. Take a number, slap it on your chest – or, in Sam’s case, on his belly, since the teenage girls handling the registration had no hope of reaching that high. Dean couldn’t help but rib him about his height again, much to the delight of the girls. Yes, the joke was getting oh-so-old, but it was his right as a big brother. 

Honestly, Dean had really missed him. Between pre-law in Stanford and the increasing seriousness of his dancing – which Dean suspected had more to do with pairing up with Jessica than Sam was willing to admit – Sam really didn’t have time to haul himself up to Sioux Falls more than once, maybe twice a year. And since Dean was beginning to feel his drifter urges rising up again, and Bobby didn’t really need him at the salvage yard right now, he’d leapt at the sound of Sam’s voice on the phone, asking him if he’d like to come over for a few days. Maybe take a quick trip to San Francisco. 

When Dean later heard the road trip included all three of them auditioning for “that dance competition show”… Well, he was just too damn happy to see Sam. Dean had no illusions about making it in the competition, but promised Sam he’d give it his all, just this once, and not treat it like some cosmic joke. 

“You’re kidding me. Are you friggin’ kidding me?” 

Dean stood in the doorway to the theater hall and peered inside cautiously, like he was expecting something big and nasty with far too many teeth to come charging at him any moment now. Sam sighed and pushed him along. 

“Yes, it’s a theater. It says so on the marquis. Now MOVE IT or we’ll have to sit way at the back, and Jess said she wants to be able to actually see the other auditions.”

“But it’s so… big”, Dean said weakly, eyes skittering over endless row after row of seats. At the bottom of the cavernous space there stood a stage that would have fit ten cars – HIS kind of cars, not the wimpy little hybrid Jessica had picked them up in early this morning. Dean really missed the steely reassuring presence of his Baby right about now, the smell of oil and gas and old leather. (The memories of a lot more sex in the back seat than he was sure anyone else was comfortable knowing.) 

What the hell did he think he was doing here? 

“I can’t do it, Sam”, Dean almost whispered. “It’s too big.” Sam just snorted. 

“You are not getting cold feet now, dude. Here, this row ought to be good enough.” Dean was practically shoved into his seat. He gave an indignant growl that stopped short when he looked up and saw the judges walking out from backstage. 

Dean had never really watched the show, so Sam had given him a quick rundown on the judges. Ellen Harvey was a living legend of ballroom dancing. Even Dean had heard of her, mostly because Bobby had apparently had a major celebrity crush on her back in the day. She still carried herself like a queen as she walked up and down the stage. And not the wave-at-you-from-afar-while-looking-pretty kind of queen, either. Her regality was of the mess-with-me-and-I-will-cut-your-head-off-myself variety. She was a fair judge, though, and once you had her rooting for you, she was endlessly supportive. 

Fergus Crowley, or just Crowley if you preferred not having your head bitten off, was a bit of an enigma. Sam couldn’t precisely tell what he had ever done in regards to dancing, but he seemed to know just about everyone in the business. He had a very British wit, sarcastic and biting, but wasn’t afraid of acknowledging talent. Or the lack thereof. 

The third or fourth judges were apparently different week to week, sometimes performers with only tenuous ties to dancing. This time they had Missouri Moseley, a soul diva with a heart the size of the Chrystler building. Dean had the tape of her Christmas album tucked away deep in the bowels of his Chevy Impala. The judges were talking to one another, and eventually Crowley lifted a microphone to his mouth and faced the audience.

“Oi, you lot, try and settle down, will you?” 

The judges’ instructions were simple and to the point. All the dancers would be called backstage in small groups. Each dancer would be asked to state their name, maybe chat a bit with the judges before performing. Then they had one and a half minutes to impress the judges. 

After their dance, they would walk up to hear what the judges had to say. Most of them would be thank-you-but-not-at-this-moment-so-SHOVE -OFF (people gave a nervous chuckle as Crowley’s voice rose at the end, not sure if he was joking or not). A select few would get a golden ticket straight through to the next stage of the competition.

There was also a third option, if the judges were unsure or wanted to see how you did outside of your own style. You came back at the end of the day to learn a short choreography. If you impressed the judges then, you were through to Las Vegas. There, in a few months’ time, there would be a grueling week of choreographies and call-backs. Sam had informed Dean it was unofficially known as “Hell Week”, or simply “Hell”.

An excited buzzing filled the air as everyone waited to get started. Sam and Jess calculated they had a good while before it was their turn, so Dean nestled back into his chair. He figured he might as well try and catch some shuteye – they had woken at the ass-crack of dawn, after all. Before the hall faded away into the haze, Dean could have sworn he heard “Sympathy for the Devil” starting to play.

 

XXX

 

Dean came to with the familiar riff from “Under Pressure”. A very young couple was spinning around the stage impossibly fast. The ruffles on the girl’s skirt were a blur as the boy twirled her like a whirlwind. Dean, of course didn’t really know anything about the, whatever they were doing, but they seemed pretty damn good. Sam and Jess just looked at each other and Sam gave a low whistle. “I know”, Jess breathed. 

When they were done and the applause had died out, Crowley went through some papers on his desk. “Kevin, I understand your partner here is just a few months shy of being able to compete with us this year? What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Channing, sir. Channing Ngo.”

“Well, Channing, be sure to come and see us next year, alright? Just don’t go losing your head, love. You’re good, but not quite as good as you think, yet.”

The smile on the girl’s face died a little at that. The boy gave her shoulders a quick squeeze and watched her walk off the stage with a forlorn smile. Crowley looked over at his fellow judges. “Now, Kevin, I’m going to have to confer with my colleagues here, but I think…” Ellen nodded enthusiastically, as did Missouri. “Ah. Mr. Tran, how do feel about going to Vegas?” 

Kevin seemed to just about vibrate off the stage with excitement, golden ticket in hand. Then even the clapping couldn’t drown out the high-pitched squeal that came from a tiny woman as she ran down the aisle, a cameraman desperately trying to keep up with her. The cameras hovered around the two as she hugged him fiercely. “Mom. Mom. Mom I can’t breathe. Mom. You can let go now Mom.” 

Dean chuckled to himself as mother and son were whisked away to talk to Gabriel. Then a pang of old, ridiculously old sorrow struck him out of the blue. 

Mom would probably have been just as supportive. 

Dean only had very vague memories of Mary. He had been barely four when she died, after all, in that house fire that had set all their lives off track. He remembered long golden hair, tomato and rice soup on sick days, and his favorite lullaby of “Hey Jude”. He remembered the way she danced in the kitchen as she cooked, picking him up and swinging him on her hip as he giggled and squirmed. 

His clearest single memory was of her dancing around with Sam in her arms and singing “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” because the chorus repeated the word “baby” a bunch of times and Sammy was a baby and wasn’t it all just silly like that, Dean? Even Dad had joined in, scooping Dean up and smiling as Mom shimmied all around them. There had been a softness in John’s eyes that he lost for good the night he lost Mary. 

I love you baby and if it’s quite alright  
I need you baby to warm a lonely night  
oh let me love you, baby, let me love you…

Dean snapped out of his memories when Sam elbowed him. 

“Oh, look who’s finally awake. You lucky bastard, you managed to avoid a lot of pretty crappy performances. I mean, it started out promising, with…”

“No offense, Sam, but I don’t need the full details. If something’s really, memorably bad or good, I’ll probably see it on TV when this airs.”

“Speaking of”, Sam snickered, “I think they caught you snoring on camera.” 

Dean jerked up. “Bullshit.”

“No man, you were drooling on your shirt and everything”, Sam chortled as Dean wiped his mouth and winced to find it still wet. “Anyway, me and Jess figured we’d try and grab a few minutes on-camera. You know, accidentally bump into Gabriel by… accident.” Dean narrowed his eyes at that, and Sam just shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah yeah, whatever. Attention-whoring gets you remembered. We can’t all rely on Gabriel practically undressing us with his eyes.”

“You… I… Shut up!” Dean said, probably more harshly than was needed. Sam might be able to just brush it off when guys flirted with him, but Dean… Well. It was something he avoided thinking about. He was getting quite good at not thinking about it. 

Sam looked at him sideways. “Ooo-kay? Anyway, c’mon Jess, let’s go.”

Dean just grunted and moved his legs out of the way so they could pass. As Jess moved up the aisle he tugged on Sam’s sleeve and got him to lean down. He spoke in a low voice, eyes shifting to Jess and back. “You okay with this?”

Sam scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “At least I know where I stand. Maybe if I’d actually said something to her before… Well. Probably better this way. For the, uh, for us dancing together.” The smile was a little lopsided, but believable enough.

When they had walked out the doors Dean rummaged through their snacks and came up with a container of Jessica’s home-made cookies. Awesome. He set to work demolishing the entire contents of the box while dancer after dancer had their moment on stage. 

There was a sweet couple named Mark and Colette who did a version “Time of My Life” that even Dean thought was amateurish at best. When the judges said the same thing, the man gave a little heartfelt speech about how his wife was the one who’d saved him from a really dark place in his life and that was all the prize he needed. Dean was just glad Sam wasn’t there to see him wipe a, uh, crumb, from the corner of his eye.

After that, there was a long series of nearly-identical girls doing contemporary or ballet in cropped shirts and tight shorts. Normally, their legs twirling in the air would have been more than enough to keep Dean interested, but it all soon became repetitive. A few were given another chance, to do the choreography at the end of the day. One, a distant-seeming redhead named Anna, was sent straight to Vegas. But most of them were middling, and were sent home with the judges telling them to keep on practicing. 

Dean found his thoughts wandering to Mom again, and what a childhood without her had been like.

Dean didn’t know if Dad kept them running all over the country for years because he was chasing Mom’s ghost or running away from it. He doubted Dad even knew, himself. He had tried to go back to the military after the fire, but was lucky to get out with an honorable discharge. Old army buddies like Bobby and Rufus and Bill and even Chaplain Jim had tried to get him to pick up the pieces, for the boys’ sake. In the end all they could do was offer safe havens for the brothers whenever John dropped them off to do a few intensive weeks of work off-shore or underground.

And safe havens they had needed, especially Sam. He discovered a burning passion for ballroom dancing at the tender age of eight, coming home from a free after-school class with a shine in his eyes. John had scoffed and laughed and asked why he couldn’t be a real red-blooded boy like Dean. Sam had gone silent and the light went out in him in a way that killed Dean inside. 

So Dean had vowed to keep that shine in Sam’s eyes. He had always taken care of Sam, and then that had translated into helping him sneak out behind Dad’s back. Dean secretly enrolled him in all the dance classes he could find and told Dad they were karate lessons. And if it earned him the right to endlessly rib Sam about his “frou-frou dances”, well, that was just part of the deal of being brothers.

 

XXX

 

The parade of cookie-cutter ballerinas came to a close when a weird little guy walked out from the wings. 

Well, not really that little, Dean guessed, just dressed in a baggy coat at least two sizes too large for him. It hung on his frame like a sheet, and he had the messiest hair Dean had ever seen outside a bedroom. Despite the goofiness, he had an intensity about him that was strangely compelling. Dean found himself paying attention to every move the man made, like his presence was radiating off the stage in waves.

He stepped up to the microphone to state his name in a voice that sounded like someone had raked it across hot coals.

“Castiel Novak. I, uh, almost made it to the top 20 last year.”

“I remember you, Cas”, Ellen said gently. “Have you worked on what we talked about last year?”

“I think so, ma’am.”

“Well then, why don’t you show us what you’ve learnt.” 

The guy – Castiel, apparently, what sort of a name was that - dropped his coat to the side and stood at parade attention in simple white clothes that vaguely reminded Dean of hospitals. Then the music began, and in the space of a heartbeat the seemed to lose all of his bones. He melted into himself and glided across the stage. 

Dean recognized the music now. It was used that animal cruelty clip, the one that asked you to donate money for rescuing abused pets. The one Dean absolutely had not bawled over drunk and alone in a dark room on more than one occasion. The lyrics said something about angels and finding comfort in their arms. 

Even though Castiel was alone under the lights, he was building another presence there, someone he was gently flowing around. He would run out in twists and turns and twirls, legs extended high, but he’d always come back to that same spot. His arms caressed the air, rippling out like ribbons in the wind, all the way to his impossibly long fingers. 

Two, three minutes must have come and gone, but no one backstage put a stop to the music. They were all hypnotized by the easy elegance of the man. The intense longing he put into his movements, in his face, made Dean’s bones ache. The stage remained empty, the dancer remained alone, and the body that had seemed almost weightless slowly dragged down, down, down onto the ground.

When the music finally ended, the entire theater remained silent for a beat before going ballistic. People were out of their seats, applauding and whooping. Dean was almost swept up in it, but caught himself at the last minute. He clapped in his seat until his hands hurt and realized he hadn’t been breathing for a while there. He could see Missouri wiping tears from her eyes, and Ellen leaned over to whisper something in her ear. 

Castiel picked himself up and walked to the edge of the stage, stooping to pick up his coat along the way. Crowley cleared his throat and the hall was silent again.

“Thank you, Castiel. Now I just want to go out and adopt a rescued pit bull. I’d just love her and squeeze her and call her Juliette.”

A chuckle rippled across the audience. Castiel, though, leaned up to the microphone with a confused squint in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t understand that reference.”

Crowley sighed and Dean didn’t need to see his face to know he was rolling his eyes. “Nevermind.” He turned to Ellen and waved at her to go on.

“Cas, your problem was always connecting emotionally to the audience. Judging by my girl Missouri’s reaction here, I don’t think that’s a problem anymore,” Ellen chuckled into her microphone and turned to pat the guest judge on the shoulder. Missouri threw her arms up in the air, still clutching a tissue.

“Child, you are a gift from God. Truly. I got nothing more to say.”

“Well. It remains to be seen how well you connect emotionally with a partner”, Crowley drawled, “but I think it’s safe to say that’s something we want to see. In, dare I say, Vegas?”

Missouri just waved her tissue again as Ellen shouted an emphatic “YES” and the audience erupted in cheers. Castiel stood still as a statue, disbelieving at first. Then a shy smile made its way to his face. Dean found himself grinning widely when the disheveled figure practically leapt off the stage to collect the yellow ticket Crowley was waving at him. The guy deserved it, no doubt. The way he moved was just…

He was startled out of his thoughts by Sam tapping on his shoulder. “Hey, I think they’re gonna be calling us with the next group of people, after the judges take a quick break. Get ready.”

 

XXX

 

Dean really wasn’t supposed to wait for his turn right out here at the edge of the curtains, but there was no way he was missing his brother’s audition by standing in the wings. He had glared at the stage hand trying to maneuver him back and told her as much. After a long standoff, during which he noticed her name tag read ‘Kathleen’, she sighed and glanced around.

“Okay, tell you what. I have a brother, too. I mean, I used to. So… I’m going to take a five-minute coffee break right now. As long as you stay on this side of the blue tape on the floor, you’re out of the camera’s line of sight.” Dean thanked her, and she waved her hand and walked away, wiping something from her eye.

From his vantage point Dean could see a large slice of the audience. There were, of course, those still waiting for their turn or for the choreography round, but even many of the ones who had already learned their fate had stuck around to see the rest of the auditions. Dean’s eyes skittered to a halt when he spotted the dark-haired man again – Castiel. Huh. It was suddenly more nerve-wracking to soon have to dance in front of someone Dean KNEW to be just that good than a bunch of judges whose accomplishments he was only vaguely aware of.

When Sam and Jessica walked out there were some assorted catcalls and wolf-whistles. Dean had to admit, they looked stunning, standing there with perfect posture. Sam’s crisp white shirt shone in the light, and the sequins on Jessica’s dress – always with the sequins – sparkled like wildfire. Right there on that stage, they seemed to belong together, Brady be damned. Even the judges joked about what a handsome couple they made before they cued the music.

Not for the first time, Dean wished he had some inkling as to what their specific dance was called. He recognized the music, of course. He’d heard someone once call Adele the soundtrack to those moments when you’re looking at the rain falling on the window pane and thinking about your past. Dean didn’t know what the hell it was supposed to mean when that rain was set on fire, but he could appreciate the sentiment.

Sam and Jess spun around the stage together, feet treading in time to the beat. She slithered against him like molten gold and pushed aside, he twirled her in and dipped her back until her head almost touched the ground. There were lifts and bends and kicks and slides and Dean felt dizzy just watching them. 

Once the applause started to die out, Ellen beamed at Sam. “Sam, you are just about the perfect leading man, strong and reliable.” 

“And those hips, good Lord!” whooped Missouri. Ellen hummed in agreement.

Crowley spoke to Jess, next. “Now Jessica, darling. You had a terrific dance partner. But he had to try really hard to save you, and you know it, dear. No matter what he did, it was never quite up to his standard.” Dean could see the drop in Jessica’s shoulders as she nodded. “Both of you have only ever done ballroom, yes?” Crowley continued.

Sam cleared his throat. “I, uh, I’ve done a bit of breaking. Not much, but… well, my brother Dean- he’s waiting out back, by the way - he’s really into that and, well, he’s tried to teach me a few tricks. I’m the younger one, so I don’t always listen to him, though!” he finished with a nervous chuckle.

Ellen’s eyes drifted to the back of the stage and caught Dean peering out. “I see”, she said, levelly. “Big brothers do try. But ballroom and b-boying are two very, very different things, aren’t they, Sam.”

“Yes ma’am”, Sam replied.

“Obviously I’m always rooting for my people, but being good at ballroom doesn’t easily translate to being able to do other kinds of dance. And here, we’re looking for the best all-round dancer. Jessica. I think we’re all in agreement”, Ellen looked at the other judges and they nodded, “that you need a bit more practice, sweetheart. But keep up the good work, you’re on your way. “

Dean’s heart was thudding all the way up in his throat. If Jess didn’t make it, what did that mean for Sam? Ellen and the others huddled close as Jess hugged Sam and walked off the stage, giving Dean a quick thumbs-up along the way. She was obviously disappointed, but as she walked to the side of the stage she pushed her shoulders back out again in a way that told she wouldn’t let this break her. 

It was Missouri who spoke this time. “Sam, honey. The judges feel they want to see more from you… in the choreography round. I wanted to put you straight through, so make these two eat their words, alright?”

Dean was practically bursting with pride, bouncing in place. Sam turned and the Winchesters grinned like Cheshire cats while scattered applause burst out. Ellen noticed the brothers trying desperately not to lunge at each other. “Oh come on out, come give your baby brother a hug!” Ellen quipped at Dean and waved him forward. Dean ran out to embrace Sam and they thumped each other quickly on the back before Dean started to back away again. Ellen held out her hand and looked at the paper before her.

“You’re next up anyway, aren’t you? Dean Winchester? Might as well stay out here.” 

“I thought we were taking a break”, Crowley mumbled to her. She gave him a Look and he held out his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, one more, and THEN we take a break.”

Dean stood at the front of the stage, feeling slightly naked. At Sam’s suggestion he had abandoned his usual plaid layers and stood there in just a plain black T-shirt and loose-fitting jeans. Crowley eyed him over dismissively.

“So you’re the Winchester who’s a breaker? Huh.”

“Well aren’t you just about the prettiest b-boy I ever seen”, Missouri crooned. Dean ducked his head, feeling oddly shy at that. 

“Uh, thank you ma’am.” All swagger in him had suddenly gone running up the aisle and out the door. 

Ellen merely looked at him, taking in his discomfort. “You think you just want to do this already, Dean?” she asked, simple and direct. He nodded gratefully. “Well, go right on ahead. Whenever you’re ready.” 

 

XXX

 

A lot people were surprised at Dean’s love of hip hop and b-boying, what with his redneck plaids and nearly crew-cut hair and gigantic classic car. Hell, he loved to rock out to the good old stuff. The glove compartment of his car was filled with cassette tapes ranging from Zeppelin to AC/DC to Creedence, with a bunch of hair metal thrown in for good measure. 

But all through the years, hip hop had been his secret way of survival. 

The Winchesters had almost always lived in the worst parts of town, in shabby motels and ramshackle apartments. Most of Dean’s formative years had been taken up by either looking after Sam or trying to please his father. When he had a moment to himself, Dean had just walked around, alone, since they were never in town long enough to form friendships. He’d hear the music blaring from the cars and houses and block party boom-boxes and he’d see the dancers battling it out on cardboard stages on street corners. 

It started out with practicing some moves in secret, behind closed doors when he had a room to himself. Eventually he gained enough confidence to talk to dancing groups of people in run-down parks and on cracking sidewalks, asking them to teach him. They would laugh at him at first, this little white boy with a big-ass attitude, but town after town they welcomed him in. 

And after a few years, they had stopped laughing and started cheering. 

On-stage, Dean caught eyes with Sam, wearing a proud they-don’t-know-what-they’re-in-for grin. Dean grinned back with so much more cheeky bravado than he felt. But hey, it was all a matter of faking it until making it, and Dean knew all about putting up a front. He took a deep breath, collapsed his center of gravity down to somewhere around his knees, and cued for his music with a hand wave.

As the beat hit his veins Dean lost himself in the moment.

 

XXX

 

Dean let his eyes scan the audience as he waited to catch his breath. His hands still tingled from when they had hit the floor, breaking the final suicide drop onto his back. His hair was a mess from that headspin. He was vaguely aware that he might have torn his jeans a little during a windmill, but couldn’t really muster up a single fuck to give about that right now.

The cheering was slowly dying out and people were settling back into their seats, but Sam was still standing at the foot of the stage, fist pumping the air as he hollered. Jessica stood beside him with hands clapping above her head. Dean felt light-headed in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with being out of breath. He was smiling so widely he thought his face might actually split in two. 

Then Dean spotted the dark-haired dude – Castiel – looking at him. His head was tilted in a funny way, eyes squinting as he stared right at Dean. Like he was studying a puzzle piece and wondering where it fit in the picture he was compiling. Even up on stage the intensity of that look made Dean feel like the guy was right up in his personal space. 

It was uncomfortable, but even more strangely, it really wasn’t. 

Crowley lifted his hand for silence without looking up from his papers. “Says here, Mr. Winchester, that you have absolutely no official dance training.” He glanced up. “Well. I do find that hard to believe.”

Ellen leaned over the microphone, voice husky and fierce.

“Listen, kid, no matter what happens next, I need you to get lessons, learn all different kinds of dance. Okay? For my own personal peace of mind? You’ve got real talent, and it needs to be allowed to develop and grow.” 

Before Dean had a chance to respond or even fully parse what Ellen Freakin’ Harvey had just said about him, Missouri interjected. “What are you talking about, Ellen? Of course the boy will learn. In VEGAS”, she whooped and got scattered cheers from the audience. Ellen shook her head sadly and leaned back.

“I’m not convinced he can handle it yet.”

“Well give the lad a chance to prove he might, then? Send him off to do the choreography. If he dies on stage, there’s always next season.” Crowley’s voice was profoundly disinterested, but his eyes were sharp.

Dean felt he had to say something. If there was one thing he hated, it was people deciding his fate for him. If there was another, it was being sold short. The words tumbled out of his mouth, defiant and brash. 

“Ma’am? I might be just a dropout with six bucks to my name, but you throw a challenge at me and I’ll tackle it head-on. I’ll scrape and I’ll claw and I’ll go down kicking before I give up.”

Ellen held his gaze. Dean squared his shoulders and faced her, grounding himself with a slight shuffle of his feet. Yes. He could do this. He could prove himself to her. To them all.

Eventually, Ellen nodded. “I believe you, Dean.” 

 

XXX

 

What the Hell, Winchester?

Dean hunched over the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. What in the name of all that was holy had he agreed to? He was here for Sam, for a joke, that was all! What on Earth had possessed him to open his mouth on that stage, defend himself to Ellen? Dad, if he had approved of the whole thing in the first place, would have called it fighting spirit. Would have told him a soldier never backs down. He could almost hear his voice in his head, telling him to man up. 

But of course Dad would never have told him that in this situation, that was just an echo. Even after all these years, Dean’s head apparently thought he needed his commanding officer. 

Because that was what John had been to them, really. Dad had trained them like little soldiers. It was clear that even if John himself had failed the military, his boys would more than make up for it. Dean in particular had taken to it like a duck to water. He was a crack shot by ten, a black belt in several martial arts by thirteen. When Sam started to show clear signs of wanting other things, of being his own person, Dean had even stepped it up a notch. He’d walked like John, talked like John, like the same music as John. He made sure to hide everything about himself that wasn’t up to John’s standards.

Dean had been “daddy’s blunt little instrument” - John’s mini-me, really - for so very, very long. He wasn’t even entirely sure what parts of his personality were his own. But Dad was gone, now, it had been over two years since the car crash. And Dean should be able to let go of the guilt.

He gripped the sides of the sink so hard his knuckles turned white. 

Maybe it was high time he found out who he was, Dean thought. Maybe he could be done with hiding around, sneaking out, not letting even himself know how much he enjoyed other things. How he liked moving around to the beat for the beat’s sake, not thinking about how much killing force he could put behind each punch. How the music grooved its way into his spine and told his body which way to go. 

And right now, this brand new drug, the exhilaration of having an entire theater full of people cheering him. He could put smiles on people’s faces, have them clapping out of their seats. Just him. 

So what else could he do? Who else could he be?

 

XXX 

 

“Hi, I’m Dean.”

“Robin.”

“Pleased to meet you, Robin, shall we dance?”

There really wasn’t any more time for conversation as their instructor, Pamela, started counting out. It was a deceptively smooth routine, with plenty of close contact but a lot of precise beats to hit. Several pairs lost the plot right at the beginning, but Dean was pleased to see he’d lucked out with his partner. Robin had an impeccable sense of rhythm, and would tap out the beat against his shoulder with her fingers as they moved.

At some point Dean realized she was singing along under her breath. She noticed him noticing, and shrugged. “I teach guitar, and ‘Volcano’ is one of my staples.”

“Oh,” he just said, and held on to her hips so she could bend backwards. He was surprisingly timid to touch her, awkward with his hands like he hadn’t been since he was a teenager. Other than that, learning the choreography seemed… natural. Years of mixed training had left him in full control of his body. It didn’t take many repetitions for the moves to settle into his muscle memory, even ones he had never done before.

Of course, dancing wasn’t just about going through the motions. When Dean felt he was being too rigid, too mechanical, he tried to listen. Not just for the beats, the timing, but the FEEL of the song, the way it slinked along. For the feel of her that was in his arms. There was a story to be told in the movement. A story of two people tragically misunderstanding each other, needing very different things from one another. He didn’t know a thing about Robin, but while they were dancing, she was his childhood sweetheart, someone who had ended up walking a very different path, and this dance was their way of saying goodbye to each other.

What I am to you is not real to me  
What I am to you, you do not need  
What I am to you is not what you mean to me  
You give me miles and miles of mountains  
And I'll ask for the sea

Before Dean even knew it, it was time to go backstage and let the other choreography group – Sam’s group – perform in front of the judges. The stage hand, Kathleen, didn’t even try to keep him in the wings this time, just groaned “You again,” and shoved him into place right behind the curtain with a sad smile. 

Sam did good, he really did. His posture was the tiniest bit stiff, but that was to be expected, he was used to prancing around like a majestic elk. But he managed to swing down into the rhythm, and his partner seemed to melt into his arms as they practically grinded against each other. Sam apparently was not a timid dance partner, even when it was with someone other than Jessica. Of course, it might have helped that Sam’s partner was a pretty brunette with delicate features.

Dean could see the audience had thinned a lot, mostly friends and family of the ones still performing. Jessica sat next to what must’ve been someone’s mother, holding hands and practically chewing her nails with excitement. There was one familiar face on its own, though, sitting between seats that looked like they had been empty for a long time now. Castiel was leaning forward, elbows on knees, apparently lost in thought. 

Then Sam’s group walked up to be condemned and Dean had trouble standing still. If someone deserved a break, it was his brother. Not because of all the shit he had gone through to get here, and there was plenty of that. But because he was just that good, and this was what he wanted to do with his life. If there was one thing Dean could wish for, it was for his little brother to be happy.

“Now, would the following people please step forward”, Crowley said, looking down at his list and reading out a few names. “Amy Pond… Whoops, sorry sweetheart, my mistake, step back again.” Dean’s heart stopped when he called out Sam’s name. There was roughly the same amount of people left in the back row, so it didn’t necessarily mean anything, but…

“Front row, we’re sorry… but you’re stuck with having to see our ugly mugs again. You’re going to Vegas!” 

“Hell yeah!” Dean hollered and punched the air. Sam turned around at the sound of his voice and grinned stupidly, like he’d just been hit on the head by a sledgehammer. Then they were being herded off the stage, and Dean could hear Jess whooping, and all he could think was “Sam made it, Sam made it, oh thank God, Sam made it.”

The same litany kept going through his mind as his group was sent out and they took starting positions. Just before the music began, he looked right into Robin’s eyes and thought: “Sam made it… and so can I.”

 

XXX

 

“Thanks for that, folks, now if you’ll just form a straight line for us”, Ellen called out when the judges were done deliberating. It took a while for Robin to register her name was being called, and Dean had to playfully push her out of the line. He didn’t hear his own name, wasn’t expecting it, not really. 

“Front row, I’m so sorry, but you won’t be continuing on at this time.” Dean barely had time to register a pang of empathy for Robin before Ellen continued: “Back row, that means you’re going through to Vegas! Congratulations!”

Dean just stood there, brain going completely off-line. There was movement in the corner of his eye, then he was suddenly bowled over by the unstoppable mass that was Sam. They both nearly lost their balance in the massive bear hug.

“Dean, oh my God, Dean, you made it! We made it!” 

“Yeah… I guess we did, man”, Dean mumbled, patting Sam’s back in a daze. 

Over Sam’s shoulder he caught eyes with Castiel, of all people. He was beaming up at him, smiling with everything except his lips. Dean couldn’t help but grin back. On impulse, he gave a quick thumbs-up behind Sam’s back. Castiel was startled, then returned the gesture with a wan smile before turning to gather his coat. Dean returned his attention to his brother. 

“Well whataya know. I’m proud of us, Sammy!”


	2. It's Perdition, Baby!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's another round of dance auditions for Dean and Sam. Will they make it through to the next stage in the competition? Who will they meet along the way? Why does that one dark-haired dancer keep popping up all the time?

Las Vegas. If there ever was a place that encouraged every possible vice, reveled in every sin, this was it. Dean Winchester felt right at home.

Of course, Dean didn’t really expect to see much of the infamous nightlife while they were there. Sam and Jess had sat him down to watch a few previous seasons of the show, and apparently they were lucky if they even left the hotel at any point during the next few days. This part of the competition was all about whittling down the amount of dancers, grueling day after grueling day, until finally the judges settled on the ones they wanted for the live shows. Breakdowns were inevitable, both physical and mental. 

Their hotel didn’t even have a casino, Dean moaned to himself as he leafed through his info packet again in the cab. Dirty rotten shame. Sam, looking out the window at the slowly waking (or never sleeping?) city, glanced back at him. “Dude, the plane landed an hour ago. You can stop whining now.”

Dean just grunted at that. It was a legitimate phobia, for chrissakes. “It’s just… Dude, we’ve been training our asses off for months to be ready for this. And the GOOD version of events is I’m in fricking’ Vegas and too busy for even one measly game of blackjack.”

This time, it was impossible to avoid the cameras. One small crew was posted right at the doors as the brothers stepped into the spacious lobby, clutching their rucksacks. Dean gave a wave and a cocky “wassup”, but Sam went into full-blown happy puppy mode. “VEGAAAS!” he hollered. Dean made a “can you believe this guy” look at the camera behind Sam’s back. Hmm. He could learn to have fun with this. 

The lobby was PACKED with people, standing around in small groups with their luggage at their feet as cameramen weaved through. Some of the girls had already shed their coats, and Dean was developing a new appreciation for skimpy sequined dresses and skin-hugging tights. Oh yeah. He could DEFINITELY have fun with this. He nudged Sam.

“Dude. Wanna bet on who bags the first ballerina?” 

“Jesus, Dean, just… Try to focus, okay?” The glare was priceless. “C’mon, we need to hurry up and register. I didn’t realize there would be this many people here already.”

There was a brief skirmish in line at one point, when “Meg Masters” was called out to re-fill her papers and two girls ran up to the table at the same time. The petite blonde smirked mischievously and bent over to write down her info while the soft-featured brunette with a perma-sneer threw daggers at her back with her eyes. Dean could smell the cat-fight coming later on, and just hoped he had ring-side seats for that one.

The numbers handed to the Winchesters were 126 and 127, respectively. This was going to be a long day, with everyone dancing again in front of the judges in their own style. Sam said as much as a third of them might not make it to the next day’s choreography, and Dean half-heartedly began making plans to hit the Strip when he got cut. They both knew how this was going to play out. You just couldn’t cram years of training into a few months, no matter how hard they had tried. Dean didn’t really deserve this. Sammy did. End of story. But that didn’t mean Dean wasn’t still going to try his damnedest.

The crowd was slowly meandering towards the second floor. The judges were almost an hour away, so there was plenty of time to settle in and get comfortable. Sam dumped his bag at Dean’s feet near the door to the auditorium.

“I gotta hit the can. Could you not, like, wander off while I’m gone?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sammy”, Dean said and winked at a pair of young women with wavy dark hair and identical black crop tops and hotpants. They had quite obviously been checking the brothers out, and Sam groaned as they erupted in giggles. 

“Sit. Stay. Be good. I won’t be a minute.” 

When Sam had gone, the girls fluttered past Dean into the hall, chattering excitedly. Dean glanced through the doors behind them and gave a low whistle – for reasons he wasn’t expecting. The hall was enormous, but more than that, it was LUXURIOUS. Red and gold as far as the eye could see. Well, these certainly were nicer digs than Dean was used to dancing in, he thought, as he strolled back along the corridor to keep out of everybody’s way. After all the rundown alleys and busted sidewalks, to end up in a place like this…

Bobby had caught Dean in the salvage yard, once, when he was about twelve or so. John had dropped them off for a few weeks again, and he’d been practicing his footwork in a far corner of the yard. 

“What are you doing, ya idjit! There’s broken glass and rusty metal all over the place!” Bobby had bellowed at him. Dean had stood there mutely, red in the face and staring at his shoes. Bobby had just looked at him for what seemed an eternity. Dean had wanted it to be over quickly, the inevitable berating and teasing.

But finally Bobby had said: “Look, just give me a minute and I’ll clear a space in the garage for ya. There’s even a radio in there. Maybe put out some cardboard on the floor?” Dean had looked up, slack-jawed with surprise. Bobby had just chuckled and adjusted his cap.

“Lord knows your head is hard enough to spin on as is, but might as well keep the oil out of your clothes. And when I’m working, I pick the music, y’hear?” 

Dean made a mental note to somehow tell the grumpy old coot how much that had meant to him.

He was brought back to the present when suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder and pulled him back forcefully.

“Hey, what the hell do you think – “, he started to say just as a runaway baggage trolley lumbered down the incline just in front of him. A harangued bellboy caught up with it. “You guys okay? It just got away from me. Sorry man!”

“No problem”, Dean said as the bellhop moved on. He suddenly realized the hand on his shoulder had never let go, and turned to face whoever it was that had stopped him. Dean caught blue eyes squinting at him worriedly from under a mop of dark hair. 

Oh. Him.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The voice was no less gravelly in person than it had been over the speakers in the theater. Dean swallowed. 

“Yeah. Thanks. “ The hand on his shoulder let go, but Dean felt it burning on his skin long minutes afterwards. 

“You’re Dean Winchester, aren’t you? I remember you – and your brother – from San Francisco.” The man held out his hand, impossibly long fingers curling open. “I’m – “

“Castiel, yeah, I remember you too. You were… awesome”, Dean said, staring at the offered hand for a beat before realizing he should shake it. Forcing out a grin, Dean choked out a reasonably casual “So we all made it, huh?” 

“Yes.” The answer was short, but in no way blunt. Just… precise. Not one for small talk, then. Kind of refreshing, actually.

“Castiel, we’re going in now. Are you coming?” A red-headed woman Dean thought he remembered from San Francisco called out from a group near the door. 

“Of course, Anna, I’ll be right there”, Castiel answered. He turned to Dean. “Well, um… Good luck?”

Dean had to laugh. Could the guy have said it more awkwardly? With the thumbs-up and everything? “Yeah, you too man.”

Then Sam was by his side again, whispering intensely. “So get this, today’s guest judge is Balthazar Dion. The ballroom champion?”

“Wait, Dion? Like the…”

“Apparently he hates to be linked to her, so please don’t mention it, okay? But Dean. TWO judges with a background in ballroom.” Sam barked out a mad half-chuckle. “I am so dead. They’ll be twice as hard on me just so it won’t look like they’re playing favorites.” 

“OR they’re the ones to see just how good you are. Will you just relax already?” Dean muttered between his teeth and smiled as a cameraman swept past them. “Let’s just go sit down. You brought snacks, right?”

 

XXX

“Guys? Guys? Can I have your attention please?” A scrawny kid wearing a headset called from the stage. People ignored him and kept talking amongst themselves. “Aww c’mon, folks. Don’t make me break out Mr. Fizzles on the first day.” This earned him assorted clapping and whooping, and the hall started to settle down. Dean frowned in thought.

“Is that…What was his name, Garth? I thought he’d be kicked off the show after what happened that time. Never seen a stage hand mess up so badly.”

Sam laughed. “Are you kidding me? Garth’s a fan favorite, he’s practically a fixture. And you didn’t see the latest season, he really stepped up to the plate.”

“Yeah. Sure. Mr. ‘Everybody loves a sock puppet in their face after being eliminated’ up there really brought it. Uh huh.”

Before Sam had time to reply, Garth was introducing the judges. The hall was filled with dutiful applause as they walked to their desk in front of the stage. Ellen Harvey was looking as quietly glamorous as ever – and having now seen videos of her dancing when she was younger, Dean was beginning to understand how Bobby went a little fuzzy at the mention of her name. Balthazar Dion was the kind of guy you sort of knew had just spent the previous night doing something utterly indecent with maybe a soprano or three. Crowley seemed even crankier than usual, but lightened up when a Snookie-lookalike brought him a huge cup of coffee. 

And then they were off. First up was a little blonde named Lilith, who didn’t look like she could possibly be 16 years old. There was something very creepy about her overly cheerful Broadway routine. Dean had a feeling her face-splitting smile at the end ‘It’s Oh So Quiet’ would be making an appearance in his nightmares. The judges sent her through to the next round hurriedly, with hardly a word. Even Crowley looked a little intimidated.

Then came a barrage of identical contemporary girls, including the two brunettes Dean had winked at before. Many were sent home. In fact, all throughout the day, most of the girls seemed to be into either jazz or contemporary, with the odd ballet or ballroom thrown in. Guys, too, but at least there were a few decent hip hop dancers and breakers among them. Dean probably shouldn’t have been too excited for the competition, but he was just grateful to see something familiar. Mostly Dean spent the next hours drifting in and out of consciousness or playing with his mobile, bored out of his skull.

After a quick lunch break there was one chick that made an impression, a real blonde firecracker of a flygirl that got through. Her name might have been Joan or something, Dean wasn’t sure, he only started paying attention when she began busting out moves. Huh, you never really saw girls go for krumping these days. 

Sam was actually blushing. “Did she just say… Tell me I’m mishearing these lyrics.”

“Nope.” Dean grinned cheekily. ”That’s my girl Azealia.” 

“I guess we’ll be playing the radio edit over that one on TV”, Crowley was saying into his microphone. “Goodness gracious. You were [expletive] good though, dear.”

 

XXX

When Dean came back from yet another bathroom-slash-reclaiming-sanity break, Castiel was just stepping off. There was a strange sense of… disappointment in Dean at not having seen him dance again. At least it appeared he’d made it to the next round. Sam nodded towards the stage.

“Dude, you just missed an awesome solo. I know you’re not that into contemporary, but this guy…”

“Yeah, I know, I saw him in San Francisco while you and Jess were off mugging at the cameras. Pretty good, huh?” Dean said, probably TOO casually as he plopped back into his seat. Sam squinted at him, opened his mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it.

Dean would never admit it to Sam, but over the months he had thought often about that performance of Castiel’s. The way the man had managed to convey so much feeling through dance had really opened his eyes. It had given him something to strive for, on those days when the endless training had seemed to focus on the purely technical.

It was only then that Dean noticed the brunette a few seats away from them had moved to sit next to Sam. He raised his eyebrow at Sam and reached over to offer his hand to her. 

“Hi, I’m Dean. Hope my brother hasn’t been boring you.”

“Sarah, Sarah Blake. Nice to meet you too, Dean. Sam’s been a delight, I’m a bit of a nervous wreck right now.”

They were interrupted by a silky smooth voice from the row behind them.

“Hello there, I’m Nick.”

A hand with long tapered fingers appeared between their chairs. Sam turned around in his seat, and Dean looked over his shoulder to see a slightly older man with ashy blond hair shake his brother’s hand.

“Um, hi. I’m Sam, this is my brother Dean, and this is Sarah.”

“Delighted to meet you all”, Nick mumbled, but never took his eyes off Sam. There was a strangely predatory glint in them. “Although, weren’t you and your brother at the San Francisco auditions?”

“Um, yeah”, Sam said, starting to grow uncomfortable under that look and shuffling in his seat. “I think I remember you. Weren’t you on a few years ago, too?”

“Third time’s the charm”, Nick said liltingly. “Made it to Vegas last time, too. So close to breaking out, y’know?”

“Must be a bummer”, Dean hopped in just to shift the attention away from Sam. “To get so close and then have the door slam shut in your face. Probably feels like the ground just gives way beneath you.” 

Nick’s eyes found Dean’s but looked past them, unblinking. “Yes. That’s exactly what it felt like.” They were interrupted by Ellen calling out.

“Hey, backstage? Are y’all ready back there for the next bunch?”

A strawberry blonde wearing a mike popped her out from behind the curtain, clutching a notepad. She studied her notes and gave a cheerful smile.

“Oh yah, you betcha. Listen, folks, I’m gonna need the following people to head on over back here…” 

Then numbers were being called, in the mid-seventies. Dean groaned at how long they still had to go, but Nick stood up. “Well, looks like my number’s up. See you around… Sam.”

Sam shrunk back into himself as Nick walked past them, turning around to give him a wink before disappearing backstage. “That guy seriously creeps me out”, he muttered.

Sarah laughed. “Oh come on. I didn’t take you to be that much of a bigot, to be bothered by a guy flirting with you.” Sam just looked at her and quirked an eyebrow.

“Give me some slack here. If the hottest girl on the planet looked at me like I was her favorite chew toy, I’d be creeped out.” 

“Can’t argue with that”, Dean interjected. “Although, girls like that tend to be AMAZING in the sack. As long as you have a plan for slipping out in the morning.” 

Sam gave an indignant growl while Sarah rolled her eyes and pulled out her cell phone. Sam then turned to hiss at Dean under his breath. 

“Dude, what the Hell has gotten into you today? With the whole horn-dog routine? I mean, you’re usually bad enough, but it’s like you’re in Turbo Macho Mode. Just… chill already!”

Dean didn’t really have anything he could say to that, so he just shrugged and settled back into his seat for the next routine.

The next person to come up to dance was a perky little redhead in slacks, suspenders and a shirt that had “DON’T PANIC” written on it in large friendly letters. Dean had never actually seen a modern tap-dancer – that was one of the very few styles Sam couldn’t secure a teacher for them in – but this girl actually made it look like fun. She had the entire auditorium clapping along to “Walking On Sunshine” by the end, her energy was that contagious.

Ellen was the first to speak. “Thanks, Charlie. You’re always a breath of fresh air. So glad you came back and tried again.”

“Well, like I always say, only perseverance gets you good seats at the panels at Comic-Con!” 

Ellen was a little taken aback. “Um, sure… Anyway, I think we’re all in agreement here, you’re moving on to the next round.” 

 

XXX

Eventually, when the long afternoon was slowly turning into evening, it was Sarah’s turn to dance. Unfortunately, she didn’t make it to the next round. Sam actually got up to say goodbye and gave her a hug, but Dean was sitting too far to see if they actually exchanged phone numbers like he had dared him to. What did a guy need to do to get his brother laid around here?

The day never seemed to end. A brunette with a British accent did a routine to “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend” in a dress that seemed to be made of nothing but diamonds, the lasting image of which got Dean through another hour. At some point a guy named Michael actually did a whole epic ballet routine to Ride of The Valkyries. How the judges avoided making any Apocalypse Now jokes was beyond Dean, but they just quickly sent him on to the next round. Even Balthazar was oddly quiet.

And then that was suddenly just about all the high culture Dean could deal with.

“I’m gonna need another break, Sammy. “

 

XXX

As Dean rounded the corner he found himself with a face full of bouncy dark curls.

“Hey, watch where you’re going!” 

The sleek black girl he’d bumped into had beautiful, large, expressive eyes. Mostly expressing annoyance at the moment. 

“I, uh, I, um…” Dean stammered, for once at a loss for words. Okay, wow. Just… wow.

It didn’t take him too long to pull himself back together, though. “Hi,” he said, with his best flirty smile. “Sorry about that. The name’s Dean, and I do like to make an impact, just usually not that literally.” Smooth, Winchester. Keep it cool. The girl was beginning to smile back in spite of herself. 

“Well… Apology accepted. Dean.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

Yup, still got it. Dean chuckled to himself, dropped his chin and moved in closer.

When he looked up there was a giant fuzzy black blob hovering just inches above his head.

“What the – “

“Ed, you tauntaun! You’re in the frame!” a dark-haired cameraman hissed from a few feet away. Dean turned and found a furry-faced boom operator holding a long pole with a mike at the end. He was standing so close Dean could see his own reflection in the guy’s glasses.

“Sorry, Harry”, the guy stage-whispered to the cameraman. Then he made a “well, go on” gesture to Dean. 

“Is it just me or is this very, very weird?” Dean muttered to the girl out the side of his mouth. She stifled a giggle. 

“Yeah, you think? They could at least let us have some… personal space.” Their eyes met, and dropped again almost instantly, a smile tugging at the corners of their mouths. The girl sighed. “I should go, I think my number’s up pretty soon.” 

“Sure. Um, good luck?”

“You too, Dean”, she said with a smile and disappeared around the corner. Dean glared at the camera crew. 

“Guys? Seriously?” 

“Juuuuust doing our jobs here man, don’t be a hater”, the cameraman said nervously, backing away a little. Dean rolled his eyes and headed for the can. 

“You’re gonna have to talk to the cameras at some point, y’know!”

 

XXX

And then, just like that, it was their turn to go in front of the judges.

Sam had been seriously struggling with the song choice. He, Jessica and their dance school friends had been listening to samba music for three days when an exasperated Dean had made his suggestion, purely as a joke. To his absolute horror, their heads had popped up in unison like a bunch of meerkats. 

“That… That could actually work”, Sam had said, thoughtfully. 

“It’d be HILARIOUS”, Jess had said, bouncing up and down in her seat. “You gotta do it, Sam.”

Now, Dean would be the last to admit it, but the routine they came up with was pretty impressive. It showed a lot of range in style, but didn’t stray too far from Sam’s background in ballroom dancing. Sam had even asked Dean’s help in incorporating a few break-dancing moves. The piece displayed serious showmanship without sacrificing technical precision. 

And yes, it was Funny. As. Hell.

 

_I like to move it, move it_  
I like to move it, move it  
I like to move it, move  
You like to move it! 

The judges were falling over each other, laughing until tear streamed down their faces. Ellen could hardly speak when Sam was through, still shaking as she leaned over the microphone.

“I… You… Get off that stage before I piss my pants, Sam. Honey, that was pure genius.”

“Part of me never wants to see you again because this HURTS and I’m getting tired”, Crowley groaned while holding onto his aching belly, “but off go into the next round, you denim-clad nightmare.”

Balthazar had collected himself and was mock-seriously studying Sam, hands steepled in front of his face. The effect was ruined when he dissolved into giggles again. “Just… just go. I’m officially rooting for you now. You bastard.” He waved his hand dejectedly, and Sam hopped off the stage, turning to give Dean a quick thumbs-up.

Dean had known all along Sam was a shoo-in for the next round, but the relief of his brother actually making it was still immense. He was so busy clapping and beaming with pride he didn’t notice the strawberry blonde stage hand approaching him until she tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled around, defenses activating with the surprise.

“Ah jeez! You startled me there, buddy. Dean Winchester? Okey-dokey, you’re up!”

 

XXX

Crowley glared at Dean as he stated his name, a low “oh right, there were TWO of them” escaping from his lips. Ellen remembered to ask him if he had taken dance lessons in the few months since his audition. Dean affirmed he had. He had indeed.

The rigorous training the boys had done had, of course, reminded Dean of a childhood spent in the dojo, the boxing ring, the gun range. Difference was, this was something he had actually signed up for himself. And that had made all the aches (serious aches, in places he hadn’t been aware there were muscles) seem worth it. He had made a choice, staring into that bathroom mirror in that theater in San Francisco. No longer daddy’s little blunt instrument. 

And that decision had inspired this choreography. Sure, straight up free-styling had worked in the first audition, but Dean didn’t need Sam to tell him this was a whole new ballgame. The whole jump-scare surprise that he’d given the judges wouldn’t work a second time. He needed to show discipline, variety, showmanship. Needed to tell a story this time. And the story Dean knew best was his own. 

The story of always needing to be harder. Better. Faster. Stronger.

 

XXX

A soldier stood at parade attention at the center of the stage. As the music blasted from the speakers, right in the hectic middle of the song, he made a military turn to the right and began moving to the beat.

_Work it harder  
Make it better_

It was nothing short of a training montage, intricate sequences of kicks and turns and hits and rolls that turned increasingly robotic as the dance progressed. Every now and again he stopped to salute, right, left, front, once to the back, surrounded by commanders. He grabbed an imaginary machine gun that was thrown at him, checked it, shouldered it, dropped it to his side, rolled over and aimed at something to the left, got up and goose-stepped to the right.

_Do it faster  
Makes us stronger_

But then the soldier stopped and shook his head as if waking up from a dream. He flipped down the gun from his shoulder and took it apart, throwing pieces every which way. And then he flipped himself over, head over heels, all across the stage. As the music came to an end, he stopped, threw the most sarcastic salute imaginable, and strode away into the wings. 

_Our work is never over._

 

XXX

“This was something quite personal to you, wasn’t it, Dean?” Ellen said softly, once the applause had died out. Dean simply nodded, still a little out of breath. He felt drained, both physically and mentally. He had definitely given it his absolute all, nobody would ever be able to claim he didn’t. Sure, it had actually kinda been fun while it lasted, but there was no way in Hell…

“Wait, wait, hold the press. No prior formal training until a few months ago? Did I get that right, darling?” Balthazar leaned over to Ellen. She nodded. “I’m… I’m stunned. Absolutely stupefied.” He leaned back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. 

“Yes, yes, the boy’s a natural, are we actually going to have to have this conversation again?” Crowley grumbled crankily. “He’s through, the sky is blue, I need coffee how about you?”

“Well, obviously no contest. Good luck in the next round, Dean. It won’t be easy, “ Ellen smiled at him, “but I have a feeling you’ll keep surprising us.” 

 

XXX

Dean’s head was buzzing all the way to his and Sam’s hotel room. Sam kept clapping him on the back and babbling on about the next day’s ordeals and Dean just wanted to shake him and scream. They had run into Gabriel’s team on the way out of the auditorium, and Dean was pretty sure he had said SOMETHING to the camera when asked how he felt to be through, but could not for the life in him remember what it was. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep just yet, Sammy. Maybe I’ll go downstairs, I think there was a bar in the lobby.”

“Yeah, well, whatever it takes to knock yourself out“, Sam yawned. “Just, I don’t care if you have to bang her in a broom closet, you’re not bringing anyone in here while I’m sleeping, y’hear?” 

Dean was about to protest that he never brought anyone home when he was sharing a room with Sam. Then he remembered what happened that one time with the twins and figured he was better off just nodding obediently.

He had just summoned the elevator when a door opened and closed behind him. 

“Hello”, said a deep, gruff voice.

“Hi.” Dean was shuffling a little on his feet, eyes darting shyly to the ground. He felt ridiculous. Which was made even more ridiculous by the awkward way the man was standing still as a statue. “Long day, huh?” he tried as they waited for the elevator.

“Tomorrow will be longer, and physically much more demanding. I should be resting, but…”

“Too wired up to sleep”, Dean nodded. “Me, I thought I’d check out the lobby bar. First floor, right?”

“There’s no bar in the lobby, just a waiting area. But there’s a lounge down on the fifth floor.”

“Oh, thanks”, was all Dean had time to say as the elevator arrived. He pressed the button for the fifth floor when they walked in. Castiel stared at the board for a while before selecting the ground floor. 

Neither of them said anything until they reached the fifth floor. Around the corner from the open elevator doors Dean could hear faint music.

“You... you sure you don’t want to join me? Unless of course you were going somewhere.” The words were out of Dean’s mouth before he was fully aware of the idea. Castiel’s eyes widened and his mouth fell slightly open, but he gathered himself quickly.

“I just thought I’d sit in the lobby quietly. But… I think I would like the company. My friends went to sleep already.”

The lounge was mostly empty, but Dean recognized a few faces from earlier in the day. The live act was a young woman accompanying her own singing on electric guitar. She was much too talented to be playing a tiny lounge in Vegas. Dean couldn’t help but wonder what her story was as he ordered a beer. Castiel furrowed his forehead briefly before telling the bartender he’d just have the same. 

They sat down next to the window and drank their beers in silence, looking out across the city, as the singer started a new song.

Dean really wasn’t sure what he was doing, but it was all oddly peaceful. He could talk the hind leg off a horse, but it was rare that he found someone he could just be… comfortably silent with. Come to think of it, Sammy and Bobby were probably the only ones, and he’d known both of them all his life. 

 

_All these accidents that happen, follow the dot_  
Coincidence makes sense only with you  
You don’t have to speak, I feel 

 

Eventually, Castiel broke the silence. Dean turned to look at him, but the man kept his eyes on the horizon as he spoke.

“It’s strange… I made it to Vegas last season, too. I thought I would have more confidence this time around. But I have so many doubts. As if I don’t deserve this opportunity.”

“I think I kinda know what you mean, man. I’m not even a real dancer, for chrissakes. I just… Dancing was always just an escape for me. And now I’m pretending to compete against, well, guys like you.”

A brief smile flickered on Castiel’s face. “I’m sure dancing is an escape for most of us here. For some more concretely than others.” 

 

_Emotional landscapes…they puzzle me_  
The riddle gets solved and you push me up to  
This state of emergency, how beautiful to be 

 

“I was brought up on a religious compound. Of the, uh, ‘the world is a sinful smelly place and we should just stay out of it’ kind. I never really fit in, was always in trouble, much more than my brothers and sisters. I wanted to think for myself, not just follow orders blindly.” Castiel paused and took a long drag at his beer. “So when I turned eighteen, I… left. Or was kicked out. To this day I’m really sure which, it all happened so fast.” 

Dean couldn’t think of anything to say. “Wow. That, uh, well that sucks.” 

Castiel frowned at the glass in his hand, half-empty. “I, uh, I’m not sure why I just told you that.” 

“Not a big drinker, then?” Dean tried to make light of the situation by joking. Castiel just shrugged.

Dean felt he had to reciprocate, and looked out into the blinking carpet of lights, searching for the words. 

“Both my parents are dead. Mom when I was four, Dad a few years back. There was a car crash…” The exact circumstances surrounding his father’s death were a little bit too painful for Dean to open up about just yet. ”Bobby, this crazy old friend of our father’s, took us in. He’s nice, he tries. But basically it’s just me and Sammy, always has been.” 

“I’m sorry for your losses. At least you and your brother have each other. That’s… good”, Castiel finished a little wistfully. Dean turned to him, guessed about the pained look in his eyes. 

“You don’t see any of them anymore?” he asked, quietly.

“One of my sisters still keeps in touch, she calls sometimes. With the others it’s a little, well, strained. I think the last straw was when I ended up moving to San Francisco, near the Castro District. It’s so infamously… liberal in so many ways.”

San Francisco? Oh. Dean suddenly remembered what The Castro was most famous for.

The beer was buzzing in Dean’s brain. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a drink. Sam had insisted on maintaining a “healthy lifestyle” during their intensive training. He blamed that when he found himself asking: “So what’s your deal, anyway? Girls, guys, both? Sock puppets?”

Castiel was the epitome of awkward, staring intently at his beer. “I, uh, I just don’t. Do the whole love and...love. At least I haven’t, for most of my life.”

“What, you mean you’ve never…?”

“I don’t… Sometimes, when I’m feeling especially close to someone, there’s a little spark… But I don’t, I don’t know, LUST over people in the way I imagine most do. All that seems to get in the way, frankly.”

“Oh. Huh.” Wow, Winchester, articulate response. The concept was a little confusing, though. Just… nothing? Not ever? Dean was sorely tempted to make a joke about dragging Castiel to a brothel, but figured it wouldn’t be in good taste. 

A thick lock of hair had dislodged itself from the mess on Castiel’s head and curled down above his eyes. He glanced at Dean from under it, then looked back out at the city. “You, then?” he rumbled. 

“Me?” Dean said in a voice that was most decidedly not a panicked squeak. “Uh, yeah, chicks man. Ain’t nothing better. Definitely. Always been all about the girls. ”

Now why did that feel like such a lie? Dean scanned the horizon for a quick change of subject. 

“So, what do you think the first choreography is going to be tomorrow?”

“Who knows. Something hellishly difficult, no doubt.” Dean turned back to find Castiel smiling at him. “I saw you today, your routine was… inspiring. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence”, Dean snorted and downed the last dregs of his bottle. “Wish I felt as sure about that.” 

Castiel was suddenly serious. “Dean. You do deserve this. Have some faith.”

The intensity in those words followed Dean all the way back to his hotel room, a repeating lullaby in his ears as he settled down to sleep. Maybe he could get through tomorrow as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay sorry guys Life got majorly in the way of writing but I’ll try to pick up the slack. 
> 
>  
> 
> Lilith does Broadway to “It’s Oh So Quiet”, probably the Björk version, because the song kinda goes overboard with the cheery and cutesy and into eerie territory. Perf for Little Girl Lilith.
> 
> Yes Jo is a flygirl I will fight you for this. Azealia Bank’s “212” is raunchy, in-your-face and has a deadly cool beat. Seriously NSFW lyrics. Fun fact: Azealia’s unapologetically bisexual – and apparently one of Dean’s faves in this universe. Oh my?
> 
> Hiya Cassie and the Ghostbusters!
> 
> Charlie could NOT be introduced to anything but “Walking on Sunshine” by Katrina & the Waves.
> 
> Why yes that IS Bela dancing in nothing but diamonds. Girl likes her bling.
> 
> Michael Adams(Michael using Adam’s meat suit, of course)needed something theatrical and classical and slightly warlike and you can’t get any bigger than “Ride of the Valkyries” by Richard Wagner. Oh how I wanted Dean to make that Apocalypse Now reference to a very confused Cas, but the story just didn’t want them in close proximity yet.
> 
> I swear I was going to have Sam do something serious but the mental image of our dear Moose jamming it like King Julien would not leave me alone. Sorrynotsorry about having “I Like To Move It” stuck in y’alls heads now. 
> 
> Dean does a quick solo to “Harder Better Faster Stronger” by Daft Punk simply because you can do ANYTHING to that beat, especially if you skip the first minute or so.
> 
> I just had to find a way to incorporate “Joga” by Björk because just read the damn lyrics, okay? I imagine the lounge singer’s version is very similar to the stripped-down way Georgi Kay covered the song. (Look it up, it’s awesome.)
> 
> Cas being asexual/demisexual has long been my headcanon. I don’t necessarily buy into the “Dean is a repressed bisexual” fanon (I’m more of a “it’s okay if it’s you” -girl), but it works so well within this story, what with Dean coming to terms with many different sides of himself, that I’m almost converting myself.

**Author's Note:**

> In my notes I’ll mostly be talking about the music used in the choreographies and how it references our characters. Basically, I am going to hell in a hand basket for some of these song choices. 
> 
> I’m not a dancer myself (much too uncoordinated and undisciplined) but love to see how the human body is able to express itself through dance. I’ve been casually watching “So You Think You Can Dance” for years now, bawling over choreographies on a regular basis. This isn’t exactly a cross-over, more of just me borrowing the format and populating it with characters from Supernatural, trying to stay true to those characters. None of the routines (except for one in the finale, but we’ll get to that) are based on or inspired by actual choreographies on the show. 
> 
> Mostly pre-season 10, since I got the idea for this during the last Hellatus. Most of the fandom references and quotes just kinda snuck up on me and then I was just going YES PERFECT at odd hours of the night (sorry neighbors). Have fun picking up on all of them! 
> 
>  
> 
> Guess who auditioned to “Sympathy for the Devil” by The Rolling Stones. Go on, take a wild guess.
> 
> Kevin and Channing do Queen and David Bowie’s “Under Pressure” as a nod to their overachiever status pre-series. And no, I have no idea what specific dance would go with that, but luckily I don’t even need to know. :D
> 
> “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” has been covered over the years by just a whole bunch of people, but the first version by Frankie Valli hit the charts in 1967, which is oddly appropriate for us as the Impala’s “birth year”. 
> 
> Castiel’s song is, naturally, “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan. As a non-American, I wasn’t aware until recently that the song is used in ASPCA clips, but apparently EVERYBODY cries over them. 
> 
> Colette and Mark (of Cain, teeheeheesosorry) get to be sickeningly in love and cheesy and do “(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life” by Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes from the movie Dirty Dancing. The bloke needs a break, arright?
> 
> Sam and Jessica (Sam’s girlfriend in the pilot) do Adele’s “Set Fire To The Rain” because I am a horrible person, and of course she’s wearing sequins that sparkle like fire. And yes, they’re doing a tango. I toyed with putting them in an established relationship, but no matter who left who, it would be a dick move to break up when Sam gets to Vegas and the story needs him single. Because reasons.
> 
> Nope, I’m not telling you what song Dean picked for his audition. ;-)
> 
> Dean and Robin (from 9x07 “Bad Boys”) dance in the choreography round to “Volcano” by Damien Rice. It’s a guitar-heavy piece, which fits Robin’s guitar-teaching , and the lyrics seem oddly appropriate, even if we don’t explore that relationship any further. And yes it was Amy the Kitsune (from 7x03, “The Girl Next Door”) that Sam was dancing with! Teenage girlfriends all around.


End file.
